House of Targaryen

XIX

Heated Waters

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I stood in the doorway, my back to Daemon, feeling the heat of his presence pressed behind me. His fingertips brushed down the hollow of my spine, feather-light, undoing the last laces of my gown. He worked in slow, deliberate, movements.

The weight of his question hung between us, and I knew he wasn't only asking about this moment. He was asking about everything—our past, this shared present, and our volatile future.

"I'm afraid," I admitted quietly, my voice barely audible. "Of what you mean."

Daemon hummed, guiding the gown to my hips before letting it fall around me. "It means whatever you want it to," he said softly, his thumb grazing the curve of my breasts. "But you must decide. I will not choose for you."

I stood there, exposed, my pulse racing, while Daemon moved in front of me. His eyes raked over me, dark and heavy with reverence. His fingers found my waist, and before I could react, he pulled me against him, my back hitting the cool wooden wall of the washroom with a soft thud.

His lips crashed on mine in an instant, demanding and deep. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing us into the humid, steaming space. My breath hitched as I melted into the kiss, his hands firm at my hips, pressing me into the wall.

His lips left mine, then trailed his down the line of my jaw, his stubble rough against my skin.

"Daemon..." I whispered, but whatever I intended to say was lost in the sensation of his lips pressing a path from my collarbone down to the swell of my chest.

He was focused, his mind clouded as if I was the only thing that mattered. His hands were everywhere, roaming over my back, and my sides, exploring every inch of bare skin they could reach.

I couldn't breathe, couldn't think beyond the feel of him, the heat pooling low in my belly. His mouth worshiped me, his lips brushing over my skin as if I were something sacred. His mouth moved lower, pressing kisses down the curve of my stomach, each one sending ripples of warmth through me.

Daemon paused just at the heat between my legs, his breath hot against my clit, teasing me with a warm kiss. His grip tightened on my hips, his lips hovering just above where I wanted him most, his breath warm against my core. He looked up at me, a wicked smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Do you want more?" he murmured, his voice low and taunting, filled with knowing.

I nodded, biting my lip, too breathless to speak.
He laughed softly, pressing one last kiss to the inside of my thigh before pulling back.

"Wait for me there," he whispered his voice a command wrapped in velvet.

I slipped into the water, it was a soothing burn against my sensitive skin. I watched him as he moved, his body fluid and graceful, as if he belonged in every space he entered. Without a word, he began to undress, his shirt slipping off his shoulders, revealing the hard lines of his figure.

The sight of him stirred something deep inside me, and I had to bite my lip to keep from reacting too visibly.

He had caught my gaze as he unbuttoned his trousers and let them fall to the floor. My breath hitched, and I quickly averted my eyes, feeling a flush rise to my cheeks.

The veins, an intricate v leading down to his already throbbing length.

Daemon said nothing, only letting out a low groan as he stepped into the tub, the water lapping softly against his skin as he lowered himself into it. The silence stretched between us, heavy and charged. He sat there, waiting, his eyes never leaving me. I felt the weight of his gaze like a physical touch, drawing me forward.

I sat across from him, the space between us impossibly small yet vast at the same time. My legs brushed against his under the water, and I could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles coiled in response to my nearness.

In response, Daemon's hand slid beneath the water, finding mine. His touch was gentle, but filled with insistence as he pulled me to him.

I found myself teasing, parting my thighs slightly. It was a subtle movement, but his reaction was immediate. His grip tightened, and in moments I was straddling him, his hardness pressed beneath me. Bare.

I tried to pull back, but his hands were firm on my hips, holding me in place. "Don't," he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear.

Daemon's hands tightened on my hips, firmly but tenderly, guiding me onto him. The stretch was immediate, his size was vast and overwhelming. I brought my hand to his shoulders for support. Water lapped around us as he filled me moving deeper and deeper.

His eyes never wavered, studying me as l adjusted to him—almost proudly. The flicker of pain in my eyes didn't go unnoticed, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against my ear.

"Shh, my brave girl," he murmured, his voice low and coaxing, soothing the edges of the sharp ache. "You can take me."

I focused on his steady breathing, the warmth of his breath against my neck, and slowly, the pain began to dull. With each thrust, the discomfort ebbed away, replaced by something far more intense. The gentle rolling of his hips sent sparks of pleasure through me, and I let myself sink into the rhythm of it, my hands gripping his shoulders to anchor myself.

The water splashed around us, rippling and lapping against the wooden border, soaking the floor.

"Daemon," I whispered, breathless, my forehead resting against his.

He smiled at me, that wicked, knowing smile that always left me off balance. His grip adjusted, guiding me into a faster rhythm. With it, years of tension between us finally began unraveling.

His pace quickened, but still, there was a gentleness there, a care in every movement. "You've haunted my thoughts—dreams," he whispered, his lips tracing the curve of my jaw. "A tortured man you've made of me."

I gasped as the pleasure built, he worked his hand between us, his fingers finding the sensitive spot that made me cry out. His touch sent a wave of heat through me, and I arched against him, my body responding to every little motion, every word spoken.

When my hips finally stilled and pleasure evaded me, he traced his fingers along my face. His thumb gently wiped away a bead of water from my cheek, and he leaned in to kiss the corner of my mouth.

"My sweet niece," he whispered, his voice low and filled with something tender, something that made my chest tighten.

I rested against him, my body still trembling slightly as the aftershocks of pleasure rolled through me. He moved me to sit across his lap, gently pulling the wet strands of hair away from my face. I could feel his eyes on me, watching every little movement, every little reaction.

I didn't have words at that moment.
Instead, I rested my head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing as we sat there together.

It was only a taste of what we could have.

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Authors Note; Thank you for reading, and thank you for the votes <3